Euphony
by gschelt
Summary: 10 more short songfics of Pansy/Hermione femslash, 20 total now.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**: So I'm trying another one of these 10-shot songfics; they really help with the writer's block, and they're fun too, in a challenging way. Anyways, I put my music player on shuffle and wrote for the duration of each song. I think for some of these I might have missed the point of the song, and for some of these they seem a little out of character to me, but oh well. POV starts with Hermione and alternates. I would recommend looking up lyrics for songs you don't know, to get the feel for the connection between the song and the story. Thanks in advance for the reviews. :)  
(I own nothing)_

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**#1: Buttons, by The Pussycat Dolls**

"See you later tonight, Granger," she says, narrowing her eyes maliciously and flicking out her tongue like a snake, and as she passes the other way, laughing down the hallway, goosebumps break out on your arms.

Every day you see her in the halls and she invades your personal space, making up lewd suggestive comments about your tutoring sessions later. It's a game she plays with you, referring to the sessions as trysts even though they're nothing of the sort. She knows just how it gets to you, knows how it shocks and embarrasses you and gives you a sick thrill, just as it gives her an even sicker thrill to see you squirm. Perhaps she only thinks she's scandalizing you, perhaps she knows it makes you shiver with want.

You pass her again in an empty corridor on a Tuesday and dread coming close enough for her to whisper in your ear, looking down at the cobblestones. When she's near enough, she steps right in your path and stares you down, close enough to feel her sour breath and warm body and she's smiling crookedly. "Can't wait for later," she whispers wickedly, and you know that since you're alone with her what's coming next will be even worse than what she says with other students packing the halls. "I trimmed my nails extra short for tonight, want to make sure it doesn't hurt when I'm fingerbanging you on that desk."

This time, though, you're sick of her empty taunts.

"Good," you reply, surprising yourself, and you lean in and kiss the smirk right off her lips. You work your tongue against hers, getting lost in the sensation, and put your hand on the small of her back, pressing her close. When you pull away, you're both breathing heavily and she's looking you up and down with a smile like she's never seen you before.

"This time don't disappoint me," you say, and you brush past her to get to your class.

* * *

  
**#2: I Kissed A Girl, by Katy Perry**

You kiss her because you're drunk. You kiss her because you're a bad girl. You like it because you're a bad girl, at least that's what you're supposed to think. She's taken aback, of course, but she doesn't stop you. She throws herself into it, sloppily, and you're a little sad that to her it's just a crazy drunk experimental kind of thing. She's straight and to her this is all about inebriation and risk and curiosity.

You hate it when girls like her get "gaysted", because it's not fair at all. It doesn't matter to them, but you actually kiss girls and like it because you like girls. As she pulls you close again for more, you realize you like _her_ even without the alcohol.

Shit.

* * *

  
**#3: Sunday Morning, by Maroon 5**

"What do you want to do today?" she asks, yawning and screwing up her face to block out the sun. Sundays are mornings when she doesn't have to get up before sunrise to creep back to her own dormitory undiscovered; the rest of the girls in your dormitory are long gone and you have the whole morning to relax and wake up together. Laying tangled with her smooth arms and legs under your sheets is a simple pleasure.

"This," you reply, and lean in to kiss her.

* * *

  
**#4: Makedamnsure, by Taking Back Sunday**

You watch her curiously when she lies next to you, breathing evenly in sleep as her chest rises and falls. You stay awake just to look at her, to take in her body and her beauty and to wonder just what the fuck is going on. She's a Gryffindor snuck into Slytherin dorms, a Gryffindor sleeping next to a Slytherin, a Gryffindor just finished being eaten out by a Slytherin.

She damages you and she doesn't even understand what she's doing. She's just a perfect-marks student with a perfect life and perfect friends, and she gives and takes with you like it's perfectly _fine_. She makes you strong and makes you weak and clouds your judgment like smoke, and she thinks that somehow it's _okay_. It's love, ain't it?

But oh god, ain't it cruel.

You just want it to not be okay anymore, you just want her eyes open and her heart emptied so it's not fine. Her power over you, it's fucking wrong. You want her so much and you think sometimes, not when her tongue is upon you but when her arms are wrapped snug around you, that you might even love her as much as want her. It's wrong the way she hurts you like that, the way she plays with you and gives you false hope, the way she believes it all herself too. You want to push her the fuck away, and still you want to hang on for dear life. If she ever gets too far from you, you don't know what you'd do. How close is close enough?

Whatever it is, you hate the way it makes your head swim this late at night. You bury your face in her neck and inhale the sweet smell of her skin, torn between wanting to hold her as tightly as possible and wanting to break her down in the _worst way_.

* * *

  
**#5: No Air, by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown**

Well, you've sure done it now. You fucked up big time, and this isn't like failing a test. Failing a test means a few nights moping, worrying, and working extra hard to boost your grade back up. Losing her means spending every night since awake and restless, feeling like you're suffocating, and not knowing what you're supposed to do now that you feel completely and utterly alone.

"What am I supposed to do?" you ask Harry in a moment of desperation, and he stares at you, at a loss, because you're supposed to be the one with all the answers. Besides, being a girl yourself, you're supposed to be the expert on girls; he knows he certainly isn't. But dear Harry, he always follows his heart, and he tries to offer you _some_ help. He tells you to get her back if it hurts so bad.

You forget all the screaming and tears and even the bruise you left on her shoulder, all the things that happened that made it end, and you don't care; all you think about is getting back the feeling of being able to breathe, and that only comes with being with her again.

* * *

  
**#6: California Dreamin', by The Mamas and The Papas**

"You ever think about California?" you say quietly, staring up at the canopy of the bed as you trace circles on the bare skin around her navel.

"As in America?" she says curiously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Yeah."

"Not really. Why?"

"I dunno," you reply, exhaling. You watch the dust motes caught in the shafts of morning sunlight streaming in from the windows next to your bed. "It's warm there. All the time."

She plants a lazy kiss on your earlobe. "Wouldn't you miss winter at all? Scarves and cocoa and all the rest? I know I would."

You wouldn't know anyone in California. Or Paris, or Sydney, or Cairo, for that matter. That's part of why you think about California so much. For a second you tell yourself that the first thing you'd say if _she_ brought up California is that you'd miss her too much. You don't even know what you were getting at in the first place.

* * *

  
**#7: Chemical Party, by Gavin Degraw**

"You know, I don't even like you," you say weakly, giggling slightly, as she draws closer above you. She grins because she doesn't like you either, but it doesn't matter because she's already crawled most of the way on top of you and there's no reason besides that to stop. She's also grinning because the room is spinning and Harry is tugging on Ron's belt coyly, and isn't that so _droll_. You smile too, but you're also smiling because Seamus Finnigan is sitting cross-legged on the floor with his head thrown back, blowing rings of smoke and staring at the vaulted celing, and because Malfoy is watching the rings of smoke like they're UFOs, and because one of the Patil twins (you can't tell which) is taking a long drag from a joint while Blaise Zabini pulls her robes from her shoulders.

And then lips are mashed against your neck and teeth graze the skin, and you half-giggle, half sigh because you _really_ don't like Pansy Parkinson at all, but you like necking with her a _lot_, and that's just wild.

* * *

  
**#8: I'm A Terrible Person, by Rooney**

You sit at your table in the Great Hall, staring over the rim of your orange juice at her in the distance. You can see her brow is knit, her lower lip is set _just so_, troubled and curious. To your left, a group of Slytherins are huddled over a book, sniggering, casting glances over in her direction like darts. She can't quite catch their looks, they're too quick, but she knows something's up. You smirk, knowing that she'll know soon enough. You almost feel bad for the poor girl, her deepest darkest secret spread through the entire school like wildfire. You had half-expected yourself to read the diary, be shocked, and put it back under the desk where you had found it. But come on, who were you kidding. This is just too good.

You see her in the halls later in the day, and you know she knows what's going on. She looks on the verge of tears, but that's not all; she catches your eye and freezes. When you raise an eyebrow at her, she flees.

You found her diary. You read that she's madly in love with you and can't keep her eyes off you and daydreams about kissing you. And what did you do? You shared it with your asshole friends and deliberately let it spread and ruin her reputation. You're a terrible person. It feels pretty damn good.

* * *

  
**#9: Girls and Boys, by Good Charlotte**

"Oh, Pansy, you sure know how to spoil me," you say, trying to hold back the giggles.

She smiles and waggles her eyebrows at you, taking her change of a few Knuts from the cashier. "Only the best," she says gracefully, holding out the box of Sugar Quills to you and winking. You laugh and loop your arm through her elbow as the two of you leave Honeydukes', charmed by her thoughtfulness and even more charmed by the fact that she's buying you cheap candy, for some reason. The two of you walk down the cobbled main street of Hogsmeade, and as a particularly chilly gust of wind blows against you and she pulls you closer, you think about Viktor.

He bought you jewels, for heaven's sake, but they've been gathering dust at the bottom of your trunk for over a year now. It's silly of you, because aren't diamonds a girl's best friend? But you quit being impressed by flashy gifts a long time ago, if you ever were in the first place.

You find yourself much preferring Sugar Quills, as of late. Not to mention girls.

* * *

  
**#10: Waiting For Tonight, by Jennifer Lopez**

The library is perfectly silent but for the rustle of pages and occasional coughs or sniffles. You flip a page and stare at the ink without comprehending for a moment, and realize you feel a pair of eyes on you. You look up and, sure enough, she's sitting at the table next to yours, roused from her Muggle Studies book and staring at you discreetly.

"What?" you mouth silently. Not only are you wary of disturbing the silence in the library, you don't want anyone to notice you actually talking to Miss Perfect Gryffindor.

She looks both ways, then turns her gaze back to you and leans forward. "Tonight," she mouths. You nod. She looks around again before turning back. "I'm ready."

You shake your head and strain your ears, watching her mouth very carefully. "I'm ready," she repeats silently, very slowly and deliberately. Her eyes sparkle as she waits for your comprehension.

Your jaw drops and you look at her in disbelief. "Are you sure?" you whisper as quietly as possible. She bites her lip and nods, smiling reassuringly. You hesitate and return her smile.

A minute later, a folded note lands on the papers spread out in front of you. You look around you, anywhere but at her, before you open it.

_Trophy Room, midnight._

You try, but you can't seem to think of anything but her all day. You know what it's like to feel her warm breath on your lips, her body close in your arms, but all you can do during class is imagine what it'll be like to finally take that next step in your relationship.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:** Another 10-shot of songfics. You know how this works by now. As usual, it's a good idea to look up the songs. Feel free to review ;)  
I own nothing._

* * *

  
**#1: Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying, by Fall Out Boy**

"You won't tell anyone, please?" she says quietly, her hands warm in yours for the last time. "Can we stay friends and just keep this whole thing between us?"

_Can we stay friends_. Right. Your lip curls as you spit out a grudging agreement. No, no one has to know that you met in secret, fucked in secret, loved in secret, cried in secret, got dumped for Weasley in secret. Why the hell would she want anyone to know that she ever was involved with _you_. It's totally understandable.

Right.

_Can we stay friends._ It's been said so many times that you know it doesn't even matter. Everyone says it when they break up. You know it's not going to happen. You're positive it's not going to happen, if the ugly anger seeping through your skin is any indication.

"No, don't worry," you hiss through gritted teeth. Relief floods her face, her stupid freckled buck-toothed face that you used to think was the most beautiful thing in the world. You look at her stupid teeth smiling with stupid fucking relief, those teeth that you used to run your tongue over while kissing, and you've never wanted to hit someone so bad in your life. "Your secret's safe with me."

For now.

* * *

  
**#2: The Tide Is High, by Atomic Kitten**

She doesn't know it yet, but she's gonna love you. It's a funny sort of friendship, this new thing you have. You meet in the library or by the lake, learn more about each other every day, give each other funny "I-didn't-know-you-liked-that-band-too" smiles, stealing pleasantly surprised glances. You know she senses the potential you've got together, probably unable to put her finger on it yet. You're a bit ahead of her, having discovered that you mesh together _so_ well even though you've hated each other for years. You've fallen in love with her smile, her laugh, her wrinkled blouse, the way it's easy to have a conversation about how no one liked you in the school you were in before Hogwarts, or about the weeping willow in her yard at home. She's not quite to the point where she can see how good you are together, not quite to the point where she's caught herself smiling when she thinks you're looking away, but you caught it. And that's okay that she's a little slow to catch on, because you can sense when your fingertips brush by accident that this slow accumulation of sparks will work out just fine.

* * *

**  
#3: Blister In The Sun, by The Violent Femmes**

She's too polite to tell you to take a picture because it'll last longer. She just looks at you funny, over her shoulder while she washes her hands at the chipped sinks, and you just laugh. You grin over at her through your tunnel vision, back pressed against the wall while you sit cross-legged on the grimy tiled floor. When you wink, she opens and closes her mouth, aghast, like a fish.

"I never noticed before, Granger," you drawl through your thick tongue and thick eyelashes and thick thought process, "but you've got nice legs."

Now she really looks shocked, and peers closely into your dilated pupils. "Pansy, are you… are you high?"

You take a long drag from your joint and just laugh again.

* * *

**  
#4: Voices Carry, by Til Tuesday**

You're lying in secret in her four-poster bed like you do most Sunday nights. Her arm, bare and soft and cold from dried sweat, lays draped comfortably across your chest as she lies on her stomach beside you. It's deathly silent, silent except for the lulling sound of her deep, even breathing as her back – just a barely-visible curve in the dark – rises and falls. You know she's awake. As she sighs from contentment, the air playing across your neck, a wave of affection for this girl sweeps over you. These are the moments when you think you might really and truly _love_ her; these quiet moments lying still and close to each other, after you've fucked. You turn your head to face her.

"Pansy," you whisper.

"Shhhh," she hisses sleepily. "If you're caught in here, you're dead."

"Pansy," you repeat, helpless to say this.

She burrows her face into the pillow, wincing, distracted. "Shhh," she murmurs. "Your voice is gonna carry."

As her breathing evens, you know she's fallen asleep. You bring your hand to your mouth and bite your nails abstractedly. "I love you," you whisper.

* * *

**  
#5: This Is How It Feels, by The Veronicas**

She's tried to get your attention subtly over the past few days, and you wonder if she knows how obvious it is the way she's talking to you again less than a _week_ after Weasley dumps her. You for one are not blind. And you're not one to flaunt for the sake of purely being catty so you don't do so, but it's not like you're going to _hide_ your relationship with that cute Ravenclaw Beater just so Hermione doesn't have to suffer or whatnot. You try not to feel smug as the new girl toys with your hair in the Three Broomsticks and Granger, looking scalded, tries not to stare over her shoulder from across the room. But you can't help but think of karma in the back of your mind and, well, you suppose that now she knows this is how it feels.

* * *

  
**#6: Please Mr. Postman, by The Carpenters**

Of course she's not going to write you. It's the insecurity talking, that nagging little irrational voice, and you _know _it is, but that doesn't stop you from thinking these thoughts. No, of course she's not going to write. It's not like it was that serious anyway, you only went out a few times and kissed just twice, so why are you expecting her to write you over the summer? Because she said she would? Well, that doesn't mean anything. Instead, you reconcile yourself to the fact that you were just reading too far into your relationship, whatever it was, and that you need to get a grip. Because you were being silly, thinking she was going to write you.

So you show up the first day of first term, completely prepared to be cool, nonchalant, and offhand with her, when she comes trudging up to you. The formal, emotionless greeting dies on your lips when she says in a low voice that her favorite owl died the first week of summer holiday. And after you hug her, still caught a bit off guard, she digs in her bag and pulls out a thick stack of envelopes tied together with twine. And then she smiles, sheepishly and slightly blushing (you've never seen her blush), and says she's sorry. And without hesitation you grin widely and say, "Of course I forgive you."

* * *

  
**#7: Dew In The Grass, by Seawolf**

She looks far too beautiful flitting among the trees. Laughing, teasing, calling over her shoulder to be chased, you've never seen anything more beautiful. It's painful. You trail your fingers along bark as she runs ahead, transfixed by her nymph-like motions. You catch up with her at the banks of the lake, and she leans against a tall gray rock and smiles at you. It's quiet except for crickets and fog and the hypnotizing uneven rhythm of her breathing. She comes closer, still smiling like a myth of some kind, like a siren, like she'll disappear as smoke through your fingers. As she comes forward and kisses you, you keep waiting for her lips to swirl away into nothing. Instead, the water laps upon the shore and she stays pressed against you, and your fingers wander through her hair as the forest's dim fog wanders along your skin.

* * *

  
**#8: Poker Face, by Lady Gaga**

When she looks at you across the aisle in Professor Binns classroom, you feel a pang of excitement shoot up your veins like a drug. Damn it, it's totally unfair. Your upper lip trembles as you struggle to keep perfectly still and focus on the droning of the teacher. But still, you feel her eyes smoldering on you, and it's like your skin is on fire. She's baiting you. And you want her so bad. It's so unfair the way she does this. She must be doing it on purpose, she must know what she does to you. Does she? You don't want her to, you don't want her to see just how unraveled you become when her eyes are on you. That would be giving her far too much power. And you have a little more dignity than that. So you stare straight ahead, fists clenched in your lap, mind blank as the blackboard you concentrate on.

When class is over you march out of there like an indifferent iceberg, at least that's what you're going for. She trails behind, sidestepping other students as she edges her way to your side.

"What's your hurry?" she smirks, maneuvering her way just slightly in front of you. You choke on your empty excuses and react absolutely frigidly, and you wish desperately that this was the result of a game you played very well, a game where you feign indifference and play hard to get. But you know your act is horribly transparent, and that she probably knows precisely that you're really flustered, and that she's the one playing the game.

* * *

  
**#9: Crazy In Love, by Beyonce**

This is the part that is going to fuck you up the most. You definitely saw it coming, but you were hoping you could stave it off with your sheer force of stubbornness. It didn't work. In _her_ shoes, the delirious stage will illicit a bit of teasing from Potter and Weasley and shortly after, their affectionate acceptance. But you, however; your crew doesn't even _know_ that you've been seeing Granger. It was okay when you'd only been hooking up with her in the Room of Requirement, but now you're dating, _finally_ dating (and honestly, it's absolutely wonderful), and it's getting harder and harder every day to wipe that dopey lovestruck smile off your face by the time you get to the dungeons. Once after a "tutoring session", you make the mistake of letting yourself slip into a daydream about her in the common room, and Draco gives you a look of annoyed confusion.

"What's with you?" he says contemptuously.

You mutter that it's nothing and instead of quashing the warm fuzzies, you head up to your dormitory for the night to lie in bed and let that dreamy smile completely take over you.

* * *

  
**#10: My Heart Will Go On, by Celine Dion**

The late evening air rips through your lungs as you burst out the front doors of the school. Stars twinkle and scattered fires blaze, flashing across your eyes, as you sprint down the lawn. Shouts, screams, curses, explosions rend the air and each beat of your feet pounding the ground sends a painful reverberation through your bones. It hurts, but you keep running. No one pays you any mind; they're too busy fighting and dying and crying.

You hope that you yourself won't have to cry, and die, but the possibility that she's… well, the possibilities are impossible. You run despite the icy disorientation and dread you feel. The gash on your arm throbs.

Near the courtyard hexes are flying like meteors. You trip over something, someone, and fall on the hard cold ground; the wind is instantly knocked out of you as you collide with the flagstones. Air rushes back to your lungs, harsh like needles, as you see it's the body of a Death Eater. Relief. You look up, pushing back to your feet, and the air is ripped right back from your chest.

"No," you rasp, scrambling to your feet. "No!" It's like you're underwater, slogging agonizingly slowly through chilling silence towards the shapeless body a few feet away. It's unrecognizable, but you know already that it's her. You crash to your knees, shredding the denim of your jeans and bloodying the skin underneath, and flip the body over. Her beautiful pale face…

_Avada Kedavra. Straight to your heart, alone in this courtyard._

"No, god no," you sob, hunched over her cold black robes and cold still body like your spine has been snapped in two. She's dead, she's dead and you haven't seen her in almost an entire year, dead before you could find her and hold her and tell her you missed her and you love her. _Dead. Like you now._ This is a nightmare, just a nightmare, soon you'll wake up-

You wake up drenched in sweat, the tears hot on your cheeks. It's pitch dark, stuffy and still as your body spasms with violent sobs. The sheets tangle around your knees, twisted like your face clenched in agony; you hold the sheets to your mouth and cry harder than you have in years. You haven't thought about this in years, haven't dreamed it. But every so often the memory materializes in your dreams, like the girl herself reaching out across death. You never truly forget, and though you try not to admit it you never truly quit loving her. Ron slumbers on beside you as you turn over and shut your streaming eyes, allowing the memory to rip open the old scar.

* * *

_**A/N**: Sorry that it closed with the sad one. That's pretty cruel, it totally should have been something fluffy. But ah, such is fate._


End file.
